The Heat of Fire
by PrettyPleaseWithSugarOnTop
Summary: AU. For the first time, Chrome Dokuro ends up meeting her newly hired, fascinating but deadly home tutor- alone. Rated M for sexual themes.


_**A/N: So… Mukuro is TYL Mukuro here, and Chrome has both her eyes intact instead of having only one eye. Sob face- don't ask why, but it makes me uncomfortable to write a girl with only one eyeball. It is an AU, after all.**_

_**I know I'm probably mad to write Het in the midst of the Yaoi-fest that is the KHR fandom, but I'll write it all the same, haha. Enjoy.**_

* * *

_AU. For the first time, Chrome Dokuro meets her newly hired, fascinating but deadly home tutor - alone. Ratings- MA._

* * *

Chrome Dokuro tugged at a loose indigo strand of hair, her fingers fidgeting idly over the silky surface. Her large eyes were riveted on the study table before her, and at the pile of monotonously colored textbooks waiting to be opened and explored. Yet if one looked closer, it was clear that she did not appear to be taking in the subdued view in front of her, but in truth was growing rapidly lost in the endless blank slate within her head. It was odd, she mused vaguely, to feel something so strongly and yet not be able to put a label on what said emotion was.

But then what did she know about things like feelings?

Since her birth sixteen years ago she had lived under the shelter of a wealthy but distant family whose sole existence thrived on being away from her daily life. She rarely saw her parents for more than once a month, and the exact reasons why they were constantly absent were something she did not know. Perhaps once upon a time she had questioned why things were the way they were. That time, however, was long gone.

Who was she to find fault in them? Her parents were, undeniably, her means of physical survival; she received monetary sustenance from them to satisfy her lifestyle needs, and they also provided homeschooling and private tutelage so that she never needed to attend school. Aside from the aforementioned she was a highly independent creature - living alone in her small little house and uncomplainingly doing the household chores such as washing the laundry, cleaning the place and cooking meals on her own. For that reason, she rarely bothered to leave the dull but soothing comfort of her home - the last time she did so she had sat in an empty playground by the park, her dark hair undone and her face pale, and had stared at the motionless swings with an eerily similar intensity at which she was now currently staring at her textbooks. A slight breeze drifted then, lightly stirring the pages.

Her vacant gaze didn't waver.

Still, this lifestyle of hers, while it garnered and created independency along with self-sufficiency within her character, was not without its drawbacks - it was clear that her opportunities at socializing had dwindled tremendously. People didn't understand her. She didn't understand people. She didn't understand herself.

Recently the young girl had received a letter from her father, the brisk, bland yet coldly familiar handwriting on the icy parchment stating that he had just found a new, renowned chemistry professor to come and tutor her. The mysterious tutor was scheduled to arrive at the household for the first time on a Friday evening, and the letter had continued on brusquely with no-nonsense instructions that she was to be prepared and readied for a three hour long lesson by then.

Chrome Dokuro glanced away from the stolid cover of her textbook and through the open window, her gaze peering curiously at the darkened, isolated driveway outside her house. Shafts of silver moonlight snuck over the brick wall, faintly illuminating the ground. No outline of a car, though, was driving along the gravel- and no bespectacled man with a top hat and a long beard was walking along the path towards the door of her house, either. All her previous tutors had resembled something of that general image she had inwardly painted; another notable similarity amongst them was that they had always been meticulously punctual for all their appointments with her.

Not this tutor, apparently, however. It was already nearly eight at night and the time listed on the letter from her father had most certainly been seven. Maybe he got held up by the traffic? She stared blankly through the room window once again, pink curtains brushing against her bare forehead and her ears unconsciously waiting for the tinkling of the doorbell despite the evident sight of her empty driveway.

"I apologize for my lateness."

Chrome yelped in a most unladylike fashion, her feet bouncing off her chair as she stood up hastily, back hitting the edge of her table, her mouth wide open with horrified shock.

The sight that greeted her was the most bizarre one she had seen in all her years of being tutored privately by numerous various mentors; she had never witnessed a man that appeared to look so… youthful and _distinct_ before. Not to mention he was also a stranger who had apparently broken into her home without her knowing or having detected it at all in the slightest; something of that notion scared and stunned her more than she would admit to herself.

He stood by the door of the study room; a tall figure, so very tall and lean (but then again, Chrome was a startling petite female, and many things, not just humans, loomed over her head in her perception) and cloaked from neck to toe in dark expensive leather. He wore no hat – a strange act considering the strong cold air outside, and she stared entranced despite herself at the ruffled loose, overlong night bangs messily framing his face. And his _face _\- it was a striking one, with the angular, high pale cheekbones, the arrogant straight nose, the sculpted lips and lastly - his mismatched eyes.

She was sure she wasn't imagining it. One slanted eye was a dark, obsidian shade, his unfathomable cat-like pupils gleaming in the dim light from her ceiling light bulb- _and the other looked positively scarlet._

"Who are you?" she whispered. "How did you get in?"

"Your door was unlocked," he spoke matter-of-factly - and there it was again, she realized, the smoothly rich, musical baritone flowing easily from those lips- sounding unexpectedly as if he was laughing and whispering at the same time. That soft, deep sound was exactly what she had heard earlier when the stranger had offhandedly announced his presence. And yet when she peered hesitantly at the exposed features of his countenance, all she could see was a small, noncommittally cordial smile and gleaming, gleaming eyes.

"It's… unlocked?" Chrome repeated in disbelief, her throat dry suddenly. "But I could have sworn I left it… locked…"

"Assumptions, my child," he responded amusedly, "Are dangerous things." His smile abruptly widened, pale lips curving. "A pity your father did not hire my services to teach you that as well, yes?"

Chrome swallowed. This man's proximity was overwhelming; he had barely said more than a few sentences and yet she was already extremely tense and self-conscious, something she had not felt in… a long time. As for the reasons for her current predicament - why she was feeling this way - she did not know. She had always been a mystery even to herself, let alone this man standing calmly before her.

But if she was to hazard a guess, it was possibly those eyes - mismatched eyes that watched her with a seemingly disinterested air, and yet she could feel, with her senses on high alert, his amused gaze wandering… wandering boldly across the expanse of her little body…

How he could do that while steadily meeting her timid eyes throughout the whole time, she had no idea.

"I'll go lock the door now," the female finally forced out, her small hands clasped as she began stumbling from her initially fixed spot by her study table. He did not move from his position- neither did he stop her. The man – the tutor - simply followed her almost clumsy movements with his sardonic, impenetrable gaze, something she was uncomfortably aware of the whole time as she made her way past him and out of the door of the study room.

* * *

Her new tutor, Chrome Dokuro noted eventually and with unbiased finality, was very attractive indeed.

It was all so very foreign to her.

She knew flowers - especially daffodils and roses that she had found recently in a nearby garden - were attractive. She knew that diamonds were attractive (very much so). She knew that the sunset, especially with its golden rays reflected across the surface of her village's river, was attractive. She knew that well-tailored dresses, coloured ribbons and pretty, pink cardigans were attractive.

Yet she had never truly witnessed a man to be attractive before, however. She didn't even know such a thing had been possible. Attractiveness had never really needed to apply on a human being itself, in her opinion. Humans admired beauty. They didn't need to _be_ beauty.

Yet here came this tall man, and with his presence came the sensual curve of his wicked mouth, the ivory pale skin, the waist-length of his dark night mane carelessly tied in a low, loose ponytail against the nape of his neck.

He was so very _exotic._

Idly Chrome wondered. Perhaps he was one of those pale Greek statues which had been stained absolutely by exquisite liquid darkness before being brought to life in the form of a mysterious, mysterious human?

Not to mention those mismatched pupils of his that seemed to glow in the dimness of the study room ought to have disturbed her more, but instead she found herself incessantly wondering - if she switched off all the lights, could the malicious scarlet eye - his right eye - see right through the dark like a dagger cutting through cloth?

_Assumptions, my child, are dangerous things._

''Not paying attention, are we, Chrome?''

Without flinching she looked up quietly at him, albeit inwardly a little frightened by her tutor's close proximity. They had seated themselves by the metal study table after a brief round of self-introductions, the lamp illuminating the moderately sized space, before he had serenely opened her chemistry textbooks and started browsing through her syllabus.

''I was...'' She began softly, her demure tones stuttering slightly, ''I was paying attention, Mukuro Sensei.''

Rokudo Mukuro tilted his head slightly, and Chrome's huge doe eyes widened as a deep, sultry rumble escaped his throat, the elegant reverberation rolling pleasingly over three particularly soft syllables.

_Kufufu._

It took her a few seconds - her heart leaping - to realize he was chuckling.

''I see that you are just as incapable at lying as you are academically,'' he remarked good-naturedly, and she visibly flinched this time.

She had noticed this before, but there was an implacable cruel, dangerous streak to this man beneath his polite and pleasantly civil demeanour. She wasn't sure if the darker entity lurking within his confusing, complicated persona was directed at her- or just a part of him in general.

Still, she ruminated unhappily, it was honestly unfair. He hadn't even seen her academic performance yet - who was he to judge at this point of time? It was true she had been doing poorly in chemistry, hence her father requesting Mukuro's services, but surely the tutor couldn't have derived as much so soon?

Not knowing what to say, Chrome simply remained silent, her eyes lowered stubbornly towards the open page of her innocent textbook. Ah. She blinked as she realized that they were currently on the subject of fire - a topic under organic chemistry.

Staring at the dark scarlet illustration on the smooth paper of the book, her mind inevitably drifted back to the issue that had been lingering persistently at the back of her head at the sight of the exotic colour.

''Mukuro-sensei?'' She murmured, inhaling faintly in a weak attempt to collect her courage and contain her curiosity. She wanted to know. It was rude to ask him such a personal thing about himself, she concluded, but she couldn't help herself. It was surprisingly whimsical of her. ''Can I ask you a question?''

The girl timidly watched from her peripheral vision as the regal eyes glanced at her, before he smiled thoughtfully, thin lips uplifted in entertainment.

''You already have, my Chrome.''

Her pulse suddenly rocketed - and she was offhandedly stunned to hear him address her in that way, with unmistakeable affection audible in that purring, masculine baritone of his, and was even more stunned to realize that her chest had suddenly constricted - that her usually pale cheeks were beginning to colour slightly.

No one had addressed her with obvious (or any) care before, not even her own parents. Apparently a stranger's words were enough to affect her.

''But can I still ask you my question all the same?'' She asked.

''No.''

His answer was like unpredicted water slapping her face, and the offended girl hastily bit the side of her swollen cheek to suppress the sudden wave of humiliation rising in her veins. And it was then that a surprisingly childish thought rose in the usual placid mind of hers-

_Stupid Sensei._

A familiar sound drew Chrome out of her resentful reverie, and she cringed when she discovered he was chuckling again - with the identically amused resonation drawling across those familiar mocking syllables. It was like a nail scratching across her vulnerable heartstrings - she wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

If so, the man didn't seem in the least contrite, and had simply lowered a large, slender long-fingered gloved hand over the page of her textbook. She tried not to look at the graceful appendage.

''Tell me, child,'' he hummed, and her heart pounded once again like an erratic drum, ''How is fire created?''

''It is created,'' she whispered, ''when you switch on the stove. When you rub two twigs together hard enough. When you turn on a lighter.''

His diabolical smile widened again, and she wondered if he was laughing at her. ''Fire is created,'' Mukuro concluded thoughtfully, his melodious, deep tones easily punctuating the words as if they were nothing more than musical notes, ''when a material goes through oxidation under the chemical process of combustion, releasing heat, light and various reaction products. At least, that is the known chemical definition for it. Do you agree with it, my Chrome?''

Why did the teacher keep calling her that, she wondered faintly. He didn't even know her. They were strangers, and yet he was casually addressing her in such an intimate manner. Was he mad? She wasn't his. She wasn't.

She wondered why she felt like crying all of a sudden.

''I don't know,'' Chrome said truthfully. ''I don't know anything about fire really, other than the fact that it burns.''

''Oh? It seems you don't quite like being burned, do you, my Chrome?'' Mukuro inquired, undeterred. She would have pondered if anything actually ever deterred him if not for the fact that she had frozen under his intent, penetrating scrutiny, feeling once again that he was scanning her; hungrily eyeing every contour of her body with those acute mismatched wicked eyes of his.

''It depends,'' she forced out quietly, staring fixedly at her drawn knees, loose strands of her indigo locks falling across her flushed face like a protective curtain.

It wasn't long before the female found her delicate chin being gently lifted by an adroit, large black gloved hand, her eyes forced to meet the teasing feline-like slant of another pair of gleaming eyes. Magnetic obsidian and smothering scarlet effortlessly captured round dark blue.

''Would you still let me touch you, my little Chrome,'' he murmured, ''if you knew I could easily burn you into even littler, crumbling ashes?''

Surely she had to be going through cardiac arrest right now? Her heart was pounding faster than it had ever done - including the time she had jogged across the streets and had nearly passed out from exertion.

''I don't know,'' Chrome elicited a weak answer. Was she lying? She didn't know. She would never know. She had never understood herself. Or maybe - she really wasn't lying, after all.

_Assumptions, my child, are dangerous things._

Mukuro smiled, dark, silky bangs brushing across his sharp aristocratic cheekbones. ''Well then, a teacher should never let his student live in ignorance… or should he?''

''No,'' Chrome heard herself say. ''He really shouldn't.''

Carelessly, in a swift fluid movement, the man tugged off his glove from his right hand. The piece of neglected cloth fell and fluttered, before landing almost slyly on her lap. Even through the length of her satin skirt she could feel searing warmth from the leather seep into the cold skin of her thighs.

Yet despite the distraction, she could not tear her attention away from the sardonic, mesmerizing gaze of her teacher. Every muscle of her body felt tense and stiff, especially when a now bare, long-fingered large hand lowered onto the side of her trembling neck. She could feel the slender, sinuously pale digits gently pressing against her erratic pulse.

''Would you let me touch you here?'' He inquired; his teasing baritone rich and husky against her ear, fingers lying softly against her traitorous heartbeat as he gracefully lowered his head near the side of her head.

She swallowed, and she knew that with those long, dexterous fingers adorning the side of her quaking throat, he could definitely feel it. ''Yes.''

Her breath hitched when his large hand slowly slid down the column of her bare neck in a deliberately excruciating caress, feeling the nerves along her creamy skin ignite at his teasing touch. And then he came to a still against her now heaving collarbone, soft yet firm fingertips stroking tenderly across the goose-bumps of her skin.

''And here?'' His question was barely louder than a deep, dulcet hum.

Her large, glazed eyes were half-lidded; the sleek strands of his loose hair were brushing her neck like tantalizing feathers. ''Yes.''

Once again, his long, long fingers – so graceful they reminded her of a pianist's fingers, nimble and beautiful and agile- began its journey down the expanse of her exposed milky skin from her collarbone towards the opening of her loosely buttoned white dress. She took in a sharp, broken breath as his large, slender hand paused over the exact place where her rebelliously wild beating heart lay underneath, her little heart-shaped face as red as a tomato at the sight of the knowing smile on Mukuro's widening sculpted pale lips.

She wondered how they would look to an outsider; a young girl seated –frozen - on her chair, her face on fire, while a tall male, who was every bit as calm as she was not, had his large, gracefully masculine hand sprawled over her delicate, pale skin- over her heart.

And then the long-fingered hand was moving again, boldly approaching the entrance of her dress. Suddenly her cotton bra felt extremely tight underneath; her pulse was still thundering madly. Mukuro's lips remained maliciously curved as a spidery finger languidly _flicked _– and a pearl button holding in the opening of her dress flew off, just like that, as if it had simply been hanging off the material from the start instead of having been sewed on. It landed on the floor with a soft, laughing tinkle.

The front of her dress instantly loosened, easily revealing the bra beneath. Chrome's throat was tight, the temperature of her face rising impossibly- she was standing at the edge of a precipice, and he was about to take her over-

Adroit, skilled fingers quietly reached down and descended on the soft mound of her left breast, right below her heart, his palm resting nearly tauntingly over the cotton bra cup- "And here?"

"Yes," she whispered raggedly. The next thing that escaped her lips shocked even herself - she nearly did not recognize the wanton, feminine noise coming out of her mouth. "_Please."_

He did not move his hand. "Are you no longer afraid, my little Chrome?"

"I…" All of a sudden she couldn't seem to find the words, most probably because she didn't know the answer. She suspected _he_ knew her answer better than she did.

Things were not going the way she planned. Simply said, Chrome was a girl who was used to serenity and peace, be it internally or outwardly. She had never been a striking creature, but rather a placid, disinterested one- more of a spectator who watched the events of another's hectic life and watched them question things and answer them for her. She wasn't apathetic, but she was detached. She didn't know if she was happy, but she had at least always been content.

She didn't like this. She didn't like his haunting questions_,_ and possibly also didn't like the fact that she liked _him_ just a little too much.

Dokuro Chrome abruptly stood up from her chair with so much force that it tumbled nosily back against the floor, breaking the lull of the moment. And yet he was _still _smiling at her, his hand having fallen from where he had been cradling her breast, and those exquisite, erudite mismatched eyes were gleaming amusedly at her reaction, taking in her tight, trembling lips, frightened huge Bambi eyes, and at the opened front of her crinkled satin dress. His leather glove drifted to the floor from her shaking thighs.

She turned, and ran out of the room.

* * *

Her feet were rushing down the steps with a frenzied velocity that she had not expressed in many years. The air hissed wildly in her ears, and she was breathing hard, chest tight with emotions she didn't comprehend. Was he after her? She didn't dare to look back. Still, it would've been obvious if he was - the timber staircase had always been known to creak under the slightest weight. She didn't hear any of that behind her aside from the noise made by her own terrified footsteps.

Chrome tried very hard not to think about the fact that Mukuro had effortlessly entered the house earlier on without her hearing a thing at all.

Her bare feet tumbled along the steps, and hastily she clutched at the rails, nearly losing her equilibrium on the staircase thanks to the mad speed at which she was moving. Before long she had arrived at the silently closed door of her house, and was staring around frantically for the keys on the cardboard next to it - keys she had used only an hour ago to lock the door.

She needed, she thought desperately, to calm herself. To calm the feverish, churning _need_ Rokudo Mukuro had awakened - in places within her body that she never knew could feel like that...

Some cool air should help. As long as she could just get out of her house - an laughable irony considering how she had never in the past seen the need to vacate the assuaging comfort of the place she called home - she would be able to collect her senses, and once again become the placid, self-possessed girl she had always been.

If only her body could stop- _burning..._

''Going somewhere, my little Chrome?''

Heart pouncing in her mouth, the young girl spun around and stared.

He was calmly seated on the couch, long black-clad legs lazily crossed and she could make out the length of his silky dark night-blue hair cutting through the raven leather of his straight, elegant back. He looked almost like a black panther, she noted vaguely amidst a haze of fear and apprehension, languid and powerful and poised on the couch as if he belonged there all along.

''How did you get here?'' Chrome squeaked. ''I didn't see you come down the stairs at all!''

Eyes, red and onyx, glimmered serenely at her as he casually spoke.

''Shouldn't you be more concerned about other things right now, hmm?'' In the moonlight she could distinctly see the enigmatic curve of the perfect lips. ''Such as what I might do to you, my Chrome?''

Frail, pale hands clutched protectively at the open front of her dress. ''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Oh?'' His dark brow arched languorously, appearing frustratingly unruffled. ''You've been very naughty lately, haven't you, child, for telling so many little lies today...''

A slash of heat instantly permeated her womb at the sensual, entertained drawl of his words, and she fought not to let the sudden sensation show on her face. Instead, the female chose to keep stubbornly quiet. It was something she always did when faced with conflict or chaos - simply keep mum and it might, hopefully, eventually go away.

Only this time she wasn't sure if she wanted it gone.

''I don't remember saying that the lesson has ended, Chrome.'' The way he purred her name reminded the shaken girl of a cat lapping luxuriously at milk. ''Or did I? Answer me, little one.''

She knew that, despite the lightness and amusement in the rich timbre of his voice, beneath all that lay an ominous undertone that warned her of one thing - he expected a reply this time.

"You didn't, Mukuro-sensei," she finally ground out.

"But you ran away, did you not? Do correct me if I am wrong."

"You're not… you're not wrong," Chrome clenched her teeth, angry tears filling her eyes.

There was a silence then. Seconds ticked by; she could so very clearly hear the chiming of her grandfather clock not too far away from her in the corner of the room. And it went on, and dragged on - _tick, tick, tick_… The intonation of the sounds which were not loud but yet sounded deafening in her ears as the hush stretched on in the room. She stole a peek at Mukuro, and immediately looked away again when she found the dissimilar eyes meeting her gaze, her stomach lurching. She didn't recognize the twinge of emotion striking her veins; was it fear? Discomfort, certainly. But was it also… excitement?

Was this his form of punishment, by keeping this up? She was beginning to hate the sounds emitted by the grandfather clock as time passed - more than anything she wished that the incessant chiming, which had been comforting to her before, would stop. Had it been an hour already? Or only a minute? Impulsively she wanted to rush over, wrap her little hands around the large device and shove it and watch it crash to the ground with a satisfying _crunch_. And maybe even more badly she wished that Mukuro would _speak_ already, say something - break the silence before she was driven mad by the endless disquieting pause in the living room.

This wasn't funny. It wasn't. Her hands tightened over the entrance of her dress. Should she just apologize? Or should she hold on to her pride like a fool, and continue on with this _fucking_-

"Come here, Chrome."

The girl's doe eyes widened; she was instantly relieved that he had spoken, but at the same time there was no denying the apprehension and trepidation that had been invoked in her by the simple sentence.

He spoke again, just as serenely as before. "Come here, Chrome."

Her teacher was still unmoving in his graceful position on the sofa, and she stared hesitantly at him, the insides of her throat constricting at the alluring, deep silky quality of his baritone. His voice was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, she realised with a startling suddenness. It was the sound of crushed velvet; the sound of dark satin flowing. It was a compelling, masculine siren call, and she its willing victim…

How could she even resist?

Within a heartbeat she had started moving towards him, her naked feet numbly taking one step after another on the mahogany floor. Her mind was screaming, but she paid it no heed. He sat there, smiling his Cheshire Cat smile, and it didn't take long before Chrome had finally stopped right before him, her large blue eyes round and her hands trembling. She peered timidly up at him – even when he was seated he loomed over her, despite the fact that she was standing - and daringly took in the angular, refined features of the man's face. Slanted eyes danced beneath his long, smoky lashes.

"Chrome, my little Chrome," Mukuro hummed, reaching out his large right hand (he hadn't bothered to don back his glove, she noticed) and gently touching the side of her cheek. At his touch, her skin had instantly coloured a dark crimson. The memory of other certain places that those long fingers had last touched on her body were fresh in her mind, after all. "Just what shall I do with you?"

It happened all too fast for her liking.

The next thing she knew, before she could even register anything else - she was lying flat on her back on the smooth, vinyl surface of her sofa, dark indigo strands of her locks pooling the material around her face, with Mukuro towering over her body, his large hands – one gloved, and one bare- pinning her slender, white arms onto the couch. His grip didn't hurt, but it certainly wasn't loose either. The entire thing couldn't have taken more than two seconds, and she was shocked – paralysed - at how swiftly her tutor had moved.

Like a panther, he had _sprung._

It also didn't help that his warm touch on the bare skin of her arms had sent an electric thrill across her diminutive body, filling up her nerves until her head felt slightly dizzy. Despite that however, she was extremely aware that without her hand clutching onto the front of her dress, her bra was all too visible to him.

"You still haven't answered my question, Chrome."

"Ques… question?" She said faintly, trying not to react to the velvety texture of his voice. Why did he have to be so _beautiful?_

"That's correct." He leaned forward, eyes glowing sardonically against the pale moonlight. The exquisite scarlet of his eye was spellbindingly bright in the thin white light, and it was getting harder and harder for her not to look into it- "Come, now… are you no longer afraid, my little Chrome_?"_

She inhaled sharply. Clearly, almost mockingly to her, he hadn't forgotten the very question that had driven her away just now from the study room. But then again, it was laughable to picture this man forgetting anything. Nothing, she knew with certainty, slipped his mind. Everything stayed in that acute, intelligent and arrogant head of his, and it was in his sadistic discretion to pull out whichever observation he felt like at the right time, or perhaps, the wrong time.

Such as now.

Aware that he waiting for an answer, and knowing that this time escaping was completely out of the question for her – she could barely move under his intimidating weight - Chrome bit her lip. Stalling wasn't going to help her in any way, like it usually did with others. She had a feeling that Mukuro would be more than capable to wait it out, and by the end of the day she would be the one who ended up feeling suffocated by the silence, not him. He had, after all, an uncanny ability to manipulate the circumstances without raising a single finger.

No. No. She never wanted to experience that awful, sickening silence again. She wouldn't let him play with her again!

"I'm not," Chrome Dokuro declared boldly. Underneath all that makeshift newfound bravado she was crumbling with uncertainty inside, but she didn't care if he could sense it. She didn't. "I'm not afraid."

Almost at once she wondered if she had made a mistake by saying those words. His eyes instantly narrowed, and the Cheshire smile hanging on his pale lips broadened before a familiar deep, sultry chuckle abruptly escaped his throat. She shivered at the feel of the electrifying sound reverberating across his hard chest - his compact and muscled weight was right on top of her - and the temperature of her face raged.

_Kufufu._

Mukuro lowered his head, the sleek strands of his night bangs brushing her red cheeks. "You're not afraid, my Chrome?" He mused. "Very well… Then you should be alright if I do this… shouldn't you?"

Before she could even ask what _this_ was, he had demonstrated it for her. With a nimble, deft movement of his arm he had ran his elegant, gloved fingers through the centre of her satin white dress, and like a Jack-in-the-box, all the remaining pearl buttons that had held her dress popped and tumbled across the couch like light sparkling, silver rain.

She gasped loudly, letting the horrified sound rattle in her throat. _How had he even done that?_ It was impossible. The dress she was wearing was expensive- the buttons couldn't have come off so easily. None of this should have been happening. He shouldn't had been able to make it to the couch downstairs, let alone sit there calmly, when she had ran all the way down the stairs without even seeing him just now; shouldn't had been able to enter a house through a locked door – she had _locked_ it, and she knew it, contrary to whatever contradictory evidence that had been presented to her - and most certainly should not had been able to rip off the buttons of her outfit as if they were mere stickers.

The sides of her dress drifted apart, easily revealing her slender, little build, clad in only her bra and underwear underneath. She was vulnerable; she was at his mercy, so why was she not even trying to resist? Was it really just because she knew it was futile? Or was it because the simmering need in her body, which had faded for a little while, had returned in full force?

"My beautiful little Chrome," Mukuro purred, his gloved, slim hand stroking her exposed belly. She trembled at the feel of warm, smooth leather brushing against her cold, soft skin. His gaze was absolutely predatory and _hungry _\- it thrilled and frightened her at the same time. Faintly she could feel her underwear becoming slightly moist.

He looked up at her then, and smiled again. Chrome stared back, knowing that her emotions were probably written all over her face, and even if they were not, he could read them effortlessly anyway. And then she was crying out suddenly when a single long dexterous finger – from his bare hand this time, rather than his gloved left one - gently caressed the delicate, sensitive junction between her legs, just enough for him to feel the dampness of her panties.

He was violating her. He was the one in the wrong. At least, that was what she fiercely told herself. _I'm being violated. I'm being violated_.

Her panties grew steadily wetter.

And then his mouth was at the vulnerable shell of her ear, and she quaked when the lilting, rich voice spoke softly. "Look at me, Chrome."

She couldn't disobey him, not with a sinful voice like that. God knew she had tried, that she had even attempted to leave the house, but he was a bizarre being and so was the very nature of her attraction to him. The most terrifying part was that she _wanted _to obey him; wanted to look at him.

And so she did.

Chrome opened her mouth weakly, but nothing came out as smothering scarlet filled her vision; Mukuro's thick-lashed eyes were all she could see – his lashes so long that she feebly wondered how it was possible for a man - and the single _red_ exotically cat-like slit pupil that had haunted her ever since his arrival now threatened to consume her and swallow her whole as she fell headfirst into its crimson, crimson depths. She couldn't look away from the eye even if she wanted to- but hazily in the back of her mind she knew that he was still smiling…

She knew that even when her view of the room faded away into nothingness, and she knew that when her whole body was abruptly plunged into a world of impenetrable blackness and fire, before she could so much as question a single thing. There was no time to question a thing. _Fire _\- it was everywhere out of the blue - and the sizzling heat was simply overwhelming; she could feel the thick gold tendrils licking away at her legs and lapping at her damp skin and the ambers stirring in her womb.

Yet it was not a painful experience, but rather, she found herself panting. What was this? What was going on? She couldn't see her body, couldn't see anything but the thick flames and the wall of darkness behind it, but she could _feel_ it. Her nerves were ignited and aflame; her lungs were tightening and she was throbbing in a certain place that made her moan uncontrollably.

It was terribly intense; she felt like a single heartbeat, pumping and throbbing. Molten heat seared her womanhood like churning lava - the desperate, feverish need Mukuro had elicited in her was most definitely back, but this time it was at a level that was almost unbearable.

_Mukuro-sensei… It feels so good…._

She let out soft cries as simmering fire penetrated her in her most private areas, and it wasn't long before her little form was set adrift in a sea of excruciating rapture and pleasure and _heat_. She was falling, and in her ears she could hear the ringing of a certain masculine sound - it resonated around and around the blazing world she was in, and she found herself drowning within its delightful, seductive drawl.

_Kufufu._

The red fire was her bed, and it was her boat - she floated helplessly along its burning depths and she knew that, vaguely in the back of her mind, all things in motion came to a certain destination. Flames crackled in her ears.

It was coming now - she could feel it; the finishing of this sensation and the beginning of something amazing, where she was but a small creature perched on the summit of a majestic volcano. Her broken breathing increased drastically in volume as she gasped roughly, her bones and heart singing - the volcano was _in_ her now, and like one that had been dormant for so many years, it had begun to bubble and scorch - and now, as she thought dazedly back to red and onyx eyes, it _erupted_.

Chrome Dokuro threw back her head and screamed out her euphoria; screamed out the name of the man whose haunting, beautiful scarlet and night eyes filled her vision, whose deep tantalizing chuckles reverberated in her ears, whose hands she could feel protectively catching her as she toppled over the edge of the fiery pinnacle she had reached. The boiling pleasure – _bliss _\- was strong and intense - it raged in her nether region and ricocheted across her core.

Soon, after what felt like an hour but was probably only a few long, heightened minutes, it ebbed away. The aftermath left her weak, limp; she was motionless at last as the remnants of the fire – of the_ illusion _\- died away. Chrome finally gathered her strength to open her eyes, her lashes clamped with tears, and blinked tiredly as the dimness of the room swam back within her bleared vision. She felt… sated, and a whole new league of serenity buzzed in her veins.

"You didn't last very long, did you, my Chrome?"

Her head jerked against the softness of her couch at the amused remark, and the sight that greeted her sent a mix of mortification and horror in the pits of her abdomen.

Her shapely legs – bare and exposed - were positioned apart and each slung comfortably over broad, leather-clad shoulders; her underwear and bra had mysteriously vanished and the remains of her dress had fallen over the side of the sofa. And Mukuro Rokudo, who was gently cradling her diminutive body, was currently holding up a long, sensuous finger to his lips, and calmly _licking_ a thick, pale sticky liquid off his ungloved fingertips - looking very much like a large, powerful feline as he did so. Her cheeks flushed and her heart pounded when she abruptly noticed a thin thread of the similar liquid hanging from her exposed, utterly wet and still-throbbing crotch all the way to his adroit fingers - she let out a small moan.

_Had all that fluid come from her?_

"My delectable little Chrome," he murmured, and her pulse rocketed rapidly when she finally noticed the stark hunger and desire gleaming visibly from his narrow eyes. He looked, she discovered foggily, like a cat which had been presented with a fine bowl of milk, and was just about ready to pounce. And one thing that she was absolutely positive about Mukuro was that he had no scruples in taking what he wanted.

That was probably why he didn't hesitate when his dark, august head suddenly descended between her shaking, open legs. Chrome's cry went up an octave when she felt a tongue, long and velvety smooth, lapping sleekly at the dampness that was her womanhood. He most definitely knew what he was doing, for skilfully the tongue grazed the tiny, blood-filled bud snugly hidden amongst her pink, pulsating walls, causing her to let out another cry at the stupendous, wonderful sensation spiralling through her core. It was… incredible.

And it was back. Not as strongly as before, but distinctly, the drumming feeling of _need _was returning.

How was it fair, that she was practically bare before him while he was still fully dressed?

Urgently she tried to gather back the air in her lungs, with immense difficulty. "Mukuro-sensei…"

He chuckled, and Chrome groaned at the deep, sing-song sound vibrating against her walls. "Mukuro-sensei…" She breathed, trying once again to speak. "_Tell me…"_

Her eyes were half-lidded, but easily he read through her confused dark blue gaze, and at the urgent question reflected behind it. "No, Chrome," Mukuro responded, widening lips trailing possessively against her creamy inner thigh. "The lesson has not ended yet."

"Then teach me," she panted, breath coming out in ragged puffs.

"Oh?"

"Teach me… how I can make you feel exactly how you made me feel just now. That… that explosion."

Something about the naivety of her words seemed to stir a slight reaction in him; the dissimilar eyes paused, before he lowered his thick-lashed eyelids, lips giving a tiny tender, curious quirk. Promptly he moved away from her thighs, and observed his student, gaze indecipherable.

"Of course, my Chrome," he finally promised, lowering her legs gently from his shoulders back onto the couch, before sliding himself above her body, face unnervingly close to hers.

"I will teach you that, as well as the many delights of the world."

She knew then, without doubt, that he would.

* * *

**A/N: **This was supposed to just be a PWP challenge from a friend, but then it somehow ended up like this... I'm possibly going to just let this lie as a mere One-Shot. But then again, that would mean ending it off like this (a horrible ending, I know) and I'm not too sure about that. If I do continue this, it would be a Double-Shot, and no more. I'm really not sure.

Let me know what you guys think?

**Edit:** This story will be considered completed for now, at least until I get to continuing it one day! Thanks to all who reviewed!


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